


By the Skin of Our Teeth

by Grumperella



Series: Febuwhump 2021: The Mandalorian Misadventures [8]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, But won't say it, Din & Grogu bond, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Whump, Din is on a mission to save more of his people, Din/Luke only if you squint, Father-Son Relationship, FebuWhump2021, Feel free to though, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Grogu loves his dad so much, Hurt Din Djarin, Hurt Luke, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Luke would totally drop everything and come running when Din is hurt, Mand'alor Din, Protective Grogu | Baby Yoda, Protective Luke, They all just love each other dammit, Whump, angst with actual plot!, i just think they're neat, they just care about each other a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumperella/pseuds/Grumperella
Summary: Febuwhump prompt Day 11: Hallucinations___Pain throbbed beneath his ribs and Din lost his grip on reality for a moment. The world slipped sideways and suddenly the image of Luke was on its side... he peered at it groggily through the new angle of his t-visor. A frantic voice was shouting at him, the holo shakey. After a moment, the ringing in his ears abated and Din heard sounds return.“Din!”“P-please. Luke.” He murmured. “I want to see my son, I want to- to-”The man in the holo disappeared for a brief moment and when he returned, he had the small figure of Grogu held up. The child whimpered and squirmed sadly, reaching for him through the holo-feed.“Din, whereareyou, tell me,please!” The man holding Grogu looked like he was running… the image kept shaking and Grogu’s ears were flopping up and down as his owlishly large eyes watered.Din’s lips pulled into a smile beneath his helmet at the sight of the kid.His kid.__Takes place maybe about a year after Ep. 16.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: Febuwhump 2021: The Mandalorian Misadventures [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156874
Comments: 14
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I'm playing fast and loose with the prompts at this point, lol. *nervous shrug* The heart writes what the heart wants. 
> 
> This doesn't really fit into any of my other AUs or Missing Scenes series, it's just sort of a stand-alone one-shot that would NOT leave me alone. UPDATE: I'm making a NEW series that this fic will fit into. So excited!

_Bee-eep! …. Bee-eep!_

The trill of his comm was muffled, his left vambrace buried under him where he lay, panting softly. His entire body felt aflame with tingling agony. It flared sharply at his right side, where he could feel blood leaking from a deep wound… The wet sensation was growing fast… too fast. He drifted...

_Bee-eep! …. Bee-eep!_

Someone was calling him.

_Bee-eep! …. Bee-eep!_

Grunting in pain, Din shifted his weight just slightly enough that he could pull his arm out from under him. He used his now freed arm to brace against the dirt floor and grit his teeth. Taking a deep, agonized breath, he pushed himself over with a heaving groan of pain until he was on his back, propped up slightly by his jetpack wedged behind him.

Arm shaking with fatigue, he pulled up his wrist and clumsily pressed the control.

_“Din?”_

The voice sounded strained, urgent. Frowning in confusion, Din squinted at the blue holo of a young man’s head and shoulders. The wispy hair, the austere robe...

 _Luke…_ why was Luke calling hi- 

Sudden panic coursed through him. _Grogu_. Luke would only be calling if it was about Grogu.

“What’s... is- is Grogu… okay?” He managed to grind out between gasping breaths.

The holo’s brow furrowed with worry.

“Grogu is fine, Din. He’s fine, I promise. But are _you_?”

Thoughts muddled, Din considered the question. He realized he must look a sight… his helmet was smeared with blood and soot, his awkward, exhausted slouch unmistakable. Grimy, unmoving bodies littered the ground around him.

“...No.” He rasped honestly. The edges of his vision were growing dark, and when he glanced down at where he had his right hand pressed to his side, he pulled the glove away to see it coated in red, a large piece of shrapnel protruding from his flight suit. The expanding pool of blood on the ground beneath him should have alarmed him, but the thought felt distant. 

Instead, he refocused on the holo image of Luke and it occurred to him, dazedly, that the universe had given him a gift… this call… he could say goodbye…

“Can I…” he coughed wetly and smelled copper on the inside of his helmet, “can I talk to Grogu?”

“Din, where are you? _Tell me._ ”

Pain throbbed beneath his ribs and Din lost his grip on reality for a moment. The world slipped sideways and suddenly the image of Luke was on its side... he peered at it groggily through the new angle of his t-visor. A frantic voice was shouting at him, the holo shakey. After a moment, the ringing in his ears abated and Din heard sounds return.

“ _Din!”_

“P-please. Luke.” He murmured. “I want to see my son, I want to- to-” 

The man in the holo disappeared for a brief moment and when he returned, he had the small figure of Grogu held up. The child whimpered and squirmed sadly, reaching for him through the holo-feed.

“Din, where _are_ you, tell me, _please_!” The man holding Grogu looked like he was running… the image kept shaking and Grogu’s ears were flopping up and down as his owlishly large eyes watered.

Din’s lips pulled into a smile beneath his helmet at the sight of the kid. _His kid_. 

“Hey womp rat.” He whispered hoarsely.

“Patoo,” came the little burble, almost pleading.

“Be good for Luke… okay?”

He thought he heard the sounds of a ship spinning up, but the world around him was fading… he tried to keep his gaze on Grogu, but his eyes were slipping closed.

“ _...Kar'taylir gar darasuum, ad’ika._ ” He mumbled quietly, and the last sound he heard was the terrified squeal of his foundling… and then nothing.

* * *

  
  


Distantly, he heard a voice. It sounded familiar... but he couldn’t place it. He floated for a while, in the dark place between the nothing and awareness. 

Then… like treading water, he felt himself trudging up from the blackness… until slowly-

“-in? Din?”

“Mmmm, wha-” he mumbled groggily. Eyelids feeling heavy as lead, one eye squinted open, then the other. He blinked slowly. Luke was leaning over him, with a deeply worried expression.

 _Luke?_ But.. how? Luke was a little blue holo image on his comm… stars away. 

_Was he hallucinating?_

_Was he dead?_

“You’re not dead.” The breathy laugh surprised him, and Din belatedly realized he must have murmured that last bit out loud. 

“How?” He rasped, his entire body aching.

“We were only a system away, I had Grogu with me as we sought out Jedi relics on Argazda. Grogu felt your... distress, and with my help, we were able to pinpoint your location." Luke's voice grew soft. "He's the reason I contacted you... you’re lucky your bond is as strong as it is.”

“Y-yeah… lucky.” Din grunted weakly, still disoriented enough that he merely accepted the jedi sorcery mumbo-jumbo...

His eyes slipped closed and he must have lost consciousness again because the next time he awoke there was a small figure huddled against his neck, sniffling. The soft whimpers clawed through the blackness dragging him down. Din struggled to open his eyes, the panic of needing to know where Grogu was surging reflexively like muscle memory. Feeling little claws digging into his cloak, the Mandalorian was able to sluggishly gather his bearings...

The explosion... the call... Luke.

Turning his face towards the kid, he tapped his helmet against the tiny head.

“Hey, kid.” He croaked softly. The whimpers melted into a soft squeal of delight and the boy moved into his view, hugging his helmet and cooing insistently. Body feeling stiff and sore, Din pulled his arm up to palm the kid’s back... then realized that the wound on his right side that he expected to feel pull… didn’t. 

Tugging the kid onto his chest, Din hesitated, then braced himself and sat up. He’d been preparing himself for the flaring agony that should have accompanied the devastating wound he’d received… but it never came. 

A dull throb, sure. Aching muscles, exhaustion, yes. But not the searing pain he'd expected… he looked down in confusion and saw the shredded flight suit, the singed edges and blood soaked body armor. That had been a life-ending injury… yet, here he was…

Pulling the kid away from his chest he looked down in awe and confusion. He’d seen the kid heal a cut, but never anything like _this_. 

“Kid… was… was this _you_?” 

“It was both of us.” A voice chimed in cooly, walking up from behind him. The Jedi came up beside the man and crouched down next to him. Din’s gaze followed him. The Jedi gave a small smile and held up a packet of bacta gel, a small bag in his other hand. 

“Your side should be mostly healed, but you’re still covered in other injuries. I was just coming back from the ship with some medical supplies. We’ll treat the rest the old fashioned way.”

Still dazed, Din just sat and stared at the younger man, holding Grogu closely to his chest. He recalled, viscerally, the feeling of _knowing_ he was dying... 

“Thank you.” He finally said, gruffly, looking down at the kid in his arms. “You both saved me. I was…” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t have made it.”

The Jedi just nodded and motioned to the long, jagged gash on Din’s arm, beneath his pauldron. 

“May I?” Stock still, Din seemed hesitant, but eventually nodded and straightened out his arm, Grogu tucked against his other side. Luke peeled away the mangled cloth, crisp with dried blood, and considered the wound. Reaching into the kit he’d brought, he pulled out the sanitizing spray and applied that first. Din felt the sting of pain as the solution bubbled away the dirt and grime around the wound, but didn’t flinch. He’d treated his wounds in the field more times than he could count, this was nothing. 

Nodding at what he saw, Luke looked back down and pulled out the bacta gel. 

“You know,” he said casually as he worked. “You scared the little one pretty bad. With that dramatic goodbye and all.”

Din frowned beneath the helmet. 

“I thought I was dying.” He defended grumpily. 

“Yes, I’m aware. And despite asking you, _begging_ you to just tell me where you were, you chose instead to ignore me.”

Din scowled at the accusation. 

“I didn’t know you were that close, I thought you were on Yavin IV. It wouldn't have mattered where I was, you never could have made it in time.” 

Luke’s eyes darted to his, brows furrowed, then they smoothed and he concentrated back on the wound. Din sighed and dipped his head, too tired to feel indignant. 

“I had lost a lot of blood, I couldn’t… I just wanted to see the kid... He was all I could think about. Everything else just sort of… faded away.”

Expression softening, Luke’s eyes came back to his and lingered this time. Finally the man looked down. 

“I’m just glad we made it in time.” The Jedi murmured softly. “It was… close.”

“...I’m sorry.” Din huffed after a tense moment, although he wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for. All he knew was that in that moment, he regretted being the cause of those sagging shoulders. 

The kid cooed up at him, patting little claws against his chest. He looked back down and pressed his helmet against the kid’s brow, holding it there. 

“I’m sorry to you too, _ad’ika_.” He whispered, voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” A comforting warble sounded up at him and his lips pulled up into a tired smile. 

Luke sprayed the foaming seal against the wound on his bicep and sat back. 

“You have more, but they’re not as deep as this was. Some sanitizer and bacta patches will probably take care of the rest.” Luke pushed the bag flush against Din’s leg where he could reach the supplies. 

“Thank you.” Din said again, feeling like it wasn’t enough... but he didn’t know what else he could say. This man just flew across a star system to save his life… 

“My people can pay you..."

Whatever he’d expected, Luke’s light burst of laughter wasn’t it. 

“Din, stop. You’re not in my debt."

"I can at least replace your medical supplies… when I get back to my ship.” Din protested but the sandy-haired jedi shook his head with a small smile.

"I have plenty of supplies..." The laughter in his voice drained away, and he sighed. "I couldn't just let you die, Din. Grogu would never forgive me. I'd never forgive me."

Mouth thinning, the Mandalorian didn’t know how to feel about that, but at the moment he was too tired to dwell on it. Looking around, he realized that Luke must have removed his jet pack at some point because he noticed it laying off to his side. 

A thought occurred to him. 

“How long have I been out?” He asked, looking over at the Jedi who still sat beside him. 

“No more than two hours, I’d guess.”

Passing Grogu off to Luke, Din grunted and shifted his feet under him, then shakily stood. 

“Hey, whoa!” 

Din ignored the concerned shout as the Jedi shot to his feet, Grogu still in his arms. Hand reflexively gripping his side as it twinged, he limped heavily back towards the speeder that had exploded, kicking over one of the still smouldering corpses that had been thrown from the crash. With his toe, he shuffled around the remains until he uncovered a mangled fob, too charred to function now. 

“Dank farrik.” He muttered under his breath.

He knew this crew had an auxiliary team. He’d been worried they’d arrive while he was out, but surely the Jedi would have taken care of them if they had... and he didn’t see any deaths by laser sword. He’d wanted to use their fob to back trace to who’d hired them, but there was no chance of that now. He’d either have to find the criminals himself, or wait for them to find him. The latter didn’t sound appealing. He’d have to track them down while they were still on-planet… _if_ they were still on-planet. Considering they hadn’t swarmed in as backup, they may have heard of his attack on their stronghold and fled. _Kriff_. 

He heard steps approach. 

“Who were they?”

“Beskar dealers. Smugglers. Got word that someone had put out fobs on the _beroya_ of a Mandalorian covert here. I came to stop them, and collect who I could.”

Luke glanced down at the darksaber still clipped to the man’s belt. The symbol of his station. 

“Don’t you have… people for that?” 

Din was silent as he stared at the charred corpses that littered the dusty wasteland. 

“I wanted to deal with them myself.”

“I’m sure your followers loved that.” Luke smirked when the man just hummed and shrugged. 

“And… did you find them? The covert?”

At this, the Mandalorian bowed his head. Grief and rage emanated off him in turbulent waves. 

“...No.” He finally said, hoarsely. 

Luke understood what he didn’t say and chose not to pry further, simply bowing his head beside the man in solemn solidarity. Grogu’s ears dipped and he cooed softly, looking between the two men from Luke’s gentle hold. 

It would explain how Din had managed his terrible injuries.... Usually the man was a shrewd warrior, both skilled and clever. He’d been injured plenty of times but Luke had never seen him like… _that_. Feeling the man’s despair now, he understood all too well how such dark emotions could make one rash.. sloppy even. He'd lost a hand that way... He knew Din rarely gave into his emotions during battle like that, but it had been a long, hard year trying to rebuild Mandalore and reunite his people. The more he’d learned about his heritage, the longer he spent on that dead planet, the more tragic the story had become. There were so few left… so few. 

Like the Jedi. Rare breeds from ancient religions that the Empire had nearly cleansed from history...

Luke sighed and Din turned his helmet to look at him. 

“Thank you. For coming. I would have died here, and it would have been a warrior’s death…” Reaching out, the Mandalorian ghosted his gloved fingers over the child’s pointed ear. “But I’m glad I didn’t.” 

He lingered for a moment, his visor’s gaze drinking in the foundling who he hadn’t seen in months… desperately trying to commit every detail to memory. Then he looked back up at the Jedi. 

“There are more of them. At least one more full crew, maybe two. I need to hunt them down before they find more of my kind, and I need to find out who handed out those fobs.”

“Let me come with you.”

Din visibly started at that, clearly surprised at the offer. He stared at the Jedi.

“...You don’t have to do that. I can handle it.”

“Just like you handled this crew?” Luke asked serenely, knowing it was a jab. 

Luke could feel the man glowering. 

“They got lucky... I won’t be making any more mistakes. I’ve been doing this for as long as you’ve been alive, _jetii_.” He spat, knowing the younger man understood the Mando’a word for his kind as a slur. 

Luke just shook his head. 

“Din, you’re still wounded. Considerably. You were blown to hell. Either let me help or stop and take a few days to rest.”

The Mandalorian stood rigid, as though he wanted to argue... then he sighed, hands coming up to rest on his hips. 

“I thought you had Jedi business on Argazda to attend to.”

Luke smirked. “It’s a relic, Din. It can wait.”

Throwing up his hands the Mandalorian limped away to where his blaster had been knocked loose from his holster and lay strewn on the ground. 

“Fine.” He huffed as he bent to retrieve the weapon, muffling a grunt of pain as he did. 

“But I get to carry the kid.”

Luke just smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a Translations:**  
>  Kar'tayli gar darasuum, ad’ika - Love you, little one  
> ad'ika - little one/loved one/kid  
> beryoa - bounty hunter  
> jetii - jedi
> 
> So, TBH, I don't actually ship Din/Luke... at least not, romantically, BUT I do think that because of the shared connection they have via Grogu, and Grogu's bond with Din, that Din & Luke would end up getting to know each other over time. Considering their personalities, I think they'd become trusted friends, even if they don't really discuss it. They respect each other. In fact, they come to really care about each other. Luke is raising and training Din's son, so Din can't help but come to trust him. Din is the soft-spoken warrior father of Luke's young student who time and again proves his nobility (and is the _Mand'alor_ , no less). I think that they'd develop some sort of close relationship...
> 
> Don't get me wrong, if you ship Din/Luke, have at it! I even love reading a lot of it, there are SO many amazing, well-written Din/Luke fics out there with real plot, I just personally prefer to write characters as close their canon personalities as possible and Din is a really guarded character. Rather than the soft budding romance I keep seeing everywhere, it would probably take something like this, some sort of dire circumstance, for either of them to acknowledge how much they've come to care about the other... whether it's platonic or not.
> 
>  **Side note:** I'm a little tempted to continue this particular fic - what do you guys think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows Din & Luke retracing the Mandalorian's steps to track the smugglers wherever they escaped to off planet so that he can complete his mission. While they're in pursuit, Din, Luke & Grogu have a some downtime on the ship to reconnect.
> 
> This chap is some angst, some fluff, mostly character building/relationship building (dialogue). No action (that's next chapter!).
> 
> Looks like this fic is gonna be 3, maybe 4 chapters total.

_Shnnnk_

Din stifled a groan as he placed his jetpack behind him, the rocket magnetizing to his back plate with a _hiss-thunk_ . The stretch pulled at the newly healed wound in his side and made him aware of numerous others that littered his torso and back. _Kriff._

He’d been chasing the smugglers that were trying to escape their stronghold, rocketing after them, and had landed in their speeder to take them out one by one when it suddenly exploded. He wasn’t sure if a stray shot had hit the engine or if one of the lackeys had set off an explosive charge at close range in some desperate, suicidal last act… either way the end result was a triggering of multiple explosions that had thrown both him and the four smugglers in the speeder far and wide, shards of metal shrapnel sticking up out of sand and bodies alike. Considering the state of the corpses littering the landscape, the presence of his beskar had made a big difference… but it didn’t cover all of him. The shrapnel that had lodged in his ribs just under his chest plate made that point… 

Sighing, Din rolled his shoulder, already feeling his neck going stiff. He didn’t remember much from the explosion itself, but he could imagine his landing hadn’t been pretty. It felt that way at least. 

The Mandalorian looked over at the Jedi, who still held Grogu in his arms. Luke was watching him with kind eyes, his expression as still as the surface of a lake. Din wondered if the Jedi realized how unnerving that serenity was, out here in the Outer Rim.

“The stronghold is only a few clicks that way,” He said, pointing. “These _hut’uune_ didn’t make it far. There were more in the base, but they’ve likely scattered by now. I’ll pick up their trail from there.” Din looked away. “And I need to recover my people.”

“You didn’t come alone?” 

Din snorted softly. “I’m Mand’alor. Bo-Katan doesn’t let me go anywhere alone. She insisted I take two of the Protectors with me.”

Luke wanted to ask what he meant by “recover”, but had a sinking feeling that he knew...

The hunter turned and strode over to the Jedi, who watched him curiously. Grogu cooed at him as he approached, reaching up with two chubby fists. Smirking under the helmet, Din pulled the squirming child out of Luke’s arms, tucking him against his chest.

“What do you say kid, wanna go for a ride? With the windows down, just like last time, remember?” The little mouth opened in a toothy grin, giggling with excitement as his hand tapped against Din’s chin. Din smiled softly, then looked up at the other man.

“If you follow me in your X-wing, you can touch down near my ship. I’ll take the kid.”

Nodding, Luke moved to collect the medical bag that Din hadn’t touched, making a mental note to push it on the man later. 

Din was already hovering in the air, jetpack roaring, when Luke shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t storm in without me.”

“I won’t.” Came the curt reply, and then the Mandalorian was off, the child squealing with giddy delight in his arms as they rocketed away. Luke shook his head. He was starting to see where Grogu’s… quirks came from.

* * *

When Luke landed, Din was already standing outside his sleek, blue and silver ship. Hopping out of the pilot’s seat, Luke motioned to R2 to stay put in the astromech tube, the droid beeping and squealing at him in protest. 

He walked up to Din, eyes crinkling in amusement at Grogu’s windswept ears and tousled robe. The child looked absolutely smug with happiness. 

“A Kom’rk class fighter…” He mused, raising his gloved hand to brush against the ship’s hull. “I haven’t seen one of these in a long time… since the early days of the Rebellion.” 

Din’s helmet turned to regard the ship.

“We recovered a small fleet of them from Concordia, they’d survived the bombardment, somehow.”

Luke sensed that Din wanted to say something else, and cocked his head to the side, inquiring silently. The man’s shoulders tensed and he looked away.

“Nothing else had. Survived.” 

“I see.” The jedi responded carefully. “I’m… sorry.” Din didn’t reply. Instead, he extracted Grogu from where the little hands clutched his cloak and handed him off to Luke.

“Take him. I’ll lead, you watch our backs.”

Accepting Grogu easily, Luke hummed his agreement as he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt, holding it ready but not igniting it.

Pulling out his blaster, Din tapped the side of his helmet to switch over to his thermal sensors and they started towards the smuggler’s stronghold. 

Coming up to the large storm door, which was still open, carbon scoring marring the edges and the ground beneath it, Din eased up to the edge and peered inside, seeking out lifeforms on his HUD. None showed themselves in the great room beyond the door, so he stepped inside.

The room was dim but the light streaming in from the doorway illuminated the bodies strewn across the floor. Evidence of explosives and blaster fire littering every surface of the room. It looked like an army had stormed through. One mercenary had been impaled on its own spear, still propped up grotesquely against the wall, like a puppet. Luke made an effort to school his expression into a cool mask.

“Was this you?” 

“Yes.” The man responded simply. Luke raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. 

There were 4 doorways that lead away from the great room, and Din led them through the one on the far right into what looked like a lounge. Game tables were toppled over, bottles broken and strewn across the floor, drinks spilled and still dripping. The body count continued in this room - at least seven that he could see - laying still where they’d been shot down… a motionless boot stuck out from behind the bar. Luke felt a twinge of regret at the sight, despite the bodies clearly being armed to the teeth. Criminals or no, this had been a massacre… 

Din didn’t even pause in this room, instead he stalked past the carnage through another door. This one led into what looked like a storage room, crates stacked on top of each other, some netted together, others half open. Taking a moment to scan the room for life signs, the Mandalorian sheathed his blaster when he saw none and immediately started tearing tops off the crates. 

He’d looked through three before he started getting frustrated. Roughly pulling a crate out from under its netting, he ripped the top off of this one too and rifled through the contents. 

“Dammit.” He grit out under his breath.

“What are you looking for?”

Din dropped his clenched fist onto the edge of the crate he had just searched and didn’t look up.

“The beskar. We’d found some of the _beskar’gam_ they were transporting here. I was going to collect it, take it back to Mandalore.” The Mandalorian sighed through his nose. “Whoever escaped must have taken it with them.” 

Luke was silent a moment, a gloved knuckle coming to rest on his chin as he considered the implications.

“Hm… if they took the time to collect their cargo, they can’t have gotten far, they’d only be an hour or so ahead of us…”

“That’s what I was thinking too.” The man cocked his helmet towards the next doorway. “Come on, control room’s this way, I can probably track their ship.” 

Not waiting for the Jedi to follow him, Din sidled up to the far doorway and pressed something on his vambrace. The control on the side of the door beeped, overridden, and hissed open. Din eased into the room cautiously, doing a sweeping scan, before straightening and making a beeline for the main control station. 

Following Din into the room, Grogu hidden protectively in the crook of his arm under the flap of his cloak, Luke took in the scene.

It looked like all hell had broken loose. 

Massive carbon scoring from explosives swept up the walls and charred starbursts of black where blaster fire had struck marred every surface. There were four bodies littering the ground around the control station, which Din stepped over casually, and three more were piled, grotesquely charred, outside the far door, which looked… melted. 

In the doorway itself, two more bodies lay fallen, blackened by the explosion… but these wore brightly painted beskar - one with an orange and white scheme, the other blue and green. Luke’s face fell and his gaze darted to Din, who was silently tapping away at the control computer. 

“Din…”

“Don’t.” The man said gruffly, as if he knew what the Jedi wanted to say. Pursing his lips, Luke glanced down at Grogu, who looked up at him with wide eyes, reflecting his father’s sadness. He sighed softly. The Mandalorian kept tapping at the controls, until finally-

“ _There_ you are.” The man muttered to himself. The helmet angled back up to Luke. “Their freighter was logged, they were calculating transport mass before they left. I was able to see how much they were carrying - at that weight, they’ll need to refuel soon. It’s an Aurore-class freighter, looks like they already had a shipment from the Mining Collective in addition to the beskar…” Din hummed and tapped at his vambrace, logging the ship’s ID code and deck plan. 

“I know this sector. If they’re on the run, they’ll want to dump some weight. There’s only one space station where they could refuel and move goods at the same time. We’ll cut them off before they reach it.”

Din was talking to avoid talking. Luke could feel his grief bleeding through his grim determination and took a hesitant step towards him.

“Din, I’m sorry… about your people.” The man finally paused his tapping, stiffening as he gripped the edges of the console until the leather of his gloves creaked in protest. He stood utterly still for a long moment, head bowed. Then, mutely, the Mand’alor pushed off the control console and trudged around it, steps slow, until he came up beside the bodies. 

Silently, he fell to a knee beside one and started removing their beskar armor, piece by piece. Luke could hear Din murmuring in Mando’a as he performed the grim task, like a ritual…

The jedi came up beside him, watching silently. Din removed the helmet of the orange and white painted Mandalorian first, revealing the battle hardened face of a woman… a Mirialan, bloodied and bruised.

 _“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Kinita.”_ He murmured, adding her helmet atop the small pile beside her. 

Next, he moved to the larger body and repeated the ritual, ending with the helmet, that hissed as it released. Beneath was the slack face of a dark skinned human, not young, but not old.

 _“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Vok.”_ Din said again, quietly. He remained kneeled beside them for a silent moment, head bowed. Luke watched with compassion and Grogu’s ears drooped. 

A soft coo from Grogu brought Din’s helmet up and he twisted to look at them. With a sigh, the man rose and stormed past them into the previous room, then returned a moment later with a large woven bag, into which he started carefully placing the beskar.

“What does it mean?” Luke queried sofly, as the man worked. Din looked up at him briefly, then back down at the beskar. He paused, studying Kinita’s bright orange pauldron… it burned in his grip. He was their Mand’alor… he was supposed to protect them. And instead he’d gotten them killed. Regret broiled beneath his skin.

“It’s… a remembrance. A funeral rite for our dead... but... more. We say it daily, to keep those we have lost alive in our memories.”

Luke smiled sadly.

“That’s a lovely sentiment.”

Din scoffed as he finished packing away the armor, tying off the bag. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard an outsider call any part of Mandalorian culture “lovely”.”

The Jedi just shook his head with a small smirk. “It’s a noble tradition to honor one’s dead.” 

Din stood, but didn’t move. He seemed rooted in place, staring hard at the floor, and Luke felt an anticipation of…. something. He waited. Finally, Din spoke.

“I said that ritual every night… after Grogu left with you.”

The Jedi’s stomach flipped at the painful admission. The man’s voice was thready and harsh, like he was pushing the words through a vice. Luke’s heart clenched when it sunk in, what he meant.

“The death ritual?” He almost spluttered. “Din-”

The man shook his head roughly and slung the heavy bag over his sore shoulder. 

“We need to go.”

Luke wanted to argue, aching at the thought that Din had been so sure he’d never see his son again, at the grief he’d caused… but decided against it. Instead, he clipped his lightsaber to his belt and shifted Grogu in his arms, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

Din hiked up the bag on his shoulder and walked over to the computer console to type in some commands.

“Alright, I’ve rigged it to blow. Let’s get out of here.”

“Is that really necessary?” Luke asked, an eyebrow raised.

Din just stared at him with his hard beskar gaze. 

“Yes.”

The Jedi sighed as he followed the Mandalorian back out of the smuggler’s base. 

* * *

Back at the ships, Din lowered the Kom’rk’s bay doors, then cast a sidelong glance to the man beside him. 

“You don’t have to come with me, you know.”

Luke met his gaze evenly, lips twitching up with amusement.

“I know. Too bad.” The helmet angled over to the X-wing, then back to Luke.

“What about your ship?”

“I’ll leave it here, we can come back for it. If you don’t mind, that is.” R2D2 squealed and booped unhappily from the astromech port. 

The Mandalorian sighed. “Is your droid coming?”

“I’d like him to.” Luke’s easy smile sharpened into a teasing smirk. “I know you’re not fond of droids, but he’s one of the good ones, promise.”

“I’ve met him.” The man deadpanned, like that was statement enough to the contrary. Finally his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine.” He groused, and started plodding up the Kom’rk’s ramp. Luke watched him go with the smirk still tugging at his lips and set Grogu down on the sandy ground. The child trilled happily and waddled up the ramp after his father. 

Turning, he looked to his droid and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, come on Artoo.” 

With a wheeling squeal of excitement, the droid propelled himself out of the X-Wing and over to his master, where he landed with a heavy _thunk_ , beeping up at the man in a quick succession of indignant protestations after being left in the ship for so long. 

“I know, I know. Well, you get to come with us now, don’t you?” With a last affronted trill, the droid turned and wheeled up the ramp, Luke following him with a small laugh.

Up in the ship, the ramp emptied into a cargo bay with a doorway through which he could see a dark hallway and stairs leading up to the next level. Climbing the stairs, Artoo hovering behind him, Luke found himself in a ship’s lounge. He noticed the large bag of beskar armor leaning against a booth in the corner, and could distantly hear Din up in the cockpit. R2 beeped excitedly and rolled away towards the control room. 

Exploring the space, Luke walked around the room, peeking behind doors to find an undecorated bunk space - the captain’s quarters - in one direction and another wide room with tables and chairs and a kitchenette in another. He took in the ship’s sharp corners and functional, minimalistic design. This was a ship designed with purpose, not comfort, in mind. Even so, the shape was elegant, sleek, the use of space efficient. While very different from the Corellian engineering he was used to, Luke found he appreciated the ship’s aesthetic. It was very Mandalorian. It fit Din.

As Luke felt the ship lift off the planet’s surface, he started opening cabinets, looking for the ship’s medical supplies. After a few false starts, he finally found them tucked into a storage compartment with a label on it he didn’t recognize. It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen written Mandalorian in many places. It was striking and austere, like the slices of a blade. 

He felt the change in the hum of the ship’s engines when they left the atmosphere, a sudden muffling of sound as they entered the vacuum of space. A distant series of beeps sounded, the familiar trill of R2 plugging into controls, then Luke could hear the clunk of Din’s heavy boots approaching, only just catching the annoyed “ _...droids_ ” that Din huffed under his breath. Luke struggled to hide his smile and turned, med kit in hand. 

“Our course is set for the Birgis Space Station.” Din announced. “This ship is faster than their freighter is traveling, so we should catch up with them within the next hour.”

“Good,” Luke nodded, holding up the bag in his hand. “Then you have time to finish dressing your injuries.”

The Mandalorian waved a hand in the air dismissively.

“I’m fine.” He asserted tiredly. Grogu, who he held close against him with his other hand, burbled unhappily. “We should review the freighter’s manifest, so we know what we’re up against.”

“Which we can do _while_ you patch yourself up.” Luke gave him a stern look, eyebrow raised. “Or are you going to make me do it?” He figured Din knew it wasn’t an empty threat.

They stared at each other, a battle of wills, until finally Din’s head dipped and his shoulders slumped. Limping tiredly over to the booth in the corner, he set Grogu down on the table and sighed.

_“Fine.”_

“Patoo.” Grogu gurgled and babbled at him, looking up with adoring, slow-blinking eyes. The man’s heart clenched with affection for the kid.

Looking down, Din examined his right side where smooth skin still peeked out from the blackened edges of the massive hole in his flight suit. The suit had lost its integrity, he’d need a new one.

Luke’s eyes followed the gloved hand that prodded at the area, recalling briefly an image of the shrapnel that had protruded, bloody and charred black, from the same skin. Heart palpitating, he shook his head to dispel the disturbing memory.

The Mandalorian sighed again, resigned.

“I need to change anyway.” He muttered, glancing at Luke. “Give me a minute.” 

Disappearing into the passenger bunk adjoining the space, the man shut the door behind him with a hiss. 

* * *

It took about ten minutes for the man to re-emerge, and when he did Luke looked over, then froze, eyes shooting wide with shock.

Din was looking down at the mangled flight suit in his hands, inspecting the hole with a frown. Luke could see all of this because the man had removed his armor… all of it. Behind him, Luke could just catch sight of the neatly organized pile of gleaming beskar laid out on the bunk, the distinctive helmet placed beside it. Eyes darting back to the man’s bare face, he watched the dark brows furrow as the Mandalorian turned the flight suit in his grip, looking for other lesions.

Din had changed into simple clothes… a gray long sleeved shirt and plain, dark pants. It struck Luke how slim the man was without all his bulky armor… he barely recognized him. Din’s leather gloves were gone and bare, calloused fingers poked through the holes they found in the suit as he murmured to himself with displeasure. 

Luke suddenly realized he was staring and looked back down at the table sharply, unsure if he was allowed to see the man like this. Grogu cooed happily beside him on the table where he sat contentedly, waving little arms at his father.

It’s not that he hadn’t seen the Mandalorian’s face… Din had removed his helmet before, during their holo calls. In fact, Din had removed his helmet the very first time they had met, although Luke hadn’t understood the significance of it at the time. When asked, Din had talked, if hesitantly, about his rigid cultural beliefs… the Way of the Mandalore. How his understanding of what the Creed meant and how to follow it was evolving… if slowly. It was hard to let go of a way of life you’d strictly lived since you were a child... But meeting Grogu had changed that for Din, and he had learned to accept that. What that meant for him was still something he was learning and deciding every day. He still only took his helmet off rarely, if ever, when among his own people... But during the calls with Luke, whenever Grogu appeared and those little arms would reach up for the holo-image of his face, the man wouldn’t hesitate. He’d reach up to remove the beskar, revealing tousled brown hair and a wistful smile framed by a trimmed mustache directed at the projection of his son. 

Luke had seen his face, but not like… this. He’d never seen the Mandalorian so dressed down… or any Mandalorian really. He’d only ever seen their kind encased in armor and armed to the teeth. Seeing the man, helmetless, in such casual garb was oddly humanizing… but left Luke feeling inexplicably guilty.

He heard a thump and rustle of cloth as Din settled in the booth across from him, not quite muffling a soft grunt of pain.

“Ehhhh! Bhawawa brrrr batu.” Grogu burbled as he pushed himself up and waddled over to his father, reaching up for his bare face. Unable to help himself, Luke’s eyes shifted to cast a sidelong glance at the pair. Din was smiling softly at the toddler. He tossed the flight suit aside, then rested his elbows on the table and lowered his head so that it touched gently against the boy’s brow. Luke averted his eyes, giving them some semblance of privacy.

“Buuueee.” Grogu cooed. 

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me.” Din murmured, closing his eyes as his bare hands came up to enclose around the infant hugging his face. “I missed you, kid.”

Grogu made a soft purr-grunt sound in response. 

“You can look at me, you know.” Came Din’s tired voice. It was laced with a hint of amusement. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me before.”

Luke raised blue eyes to gaze at the man, back straightening slightly. Din had pulled away from Grogu, peeling the stubby arms from his face, and was reaching for the med kit. 

“I know… I just…” The Jedi shrugged helplessly.

Din shook his head, saving Luke from what he wasn’t sure how to explain.

“It’s okay. It’s still strange for me too…” He started pulling out supplies and pointed a stim injector at Luke, “but _you_ insisted that I use the med kit.“

The Jedi’s lips twitched up as he interlaced his fingers on the table. “I did.”

Sighing, Din pulled out the sterilizing spray and some bacta patches, then started rolling up his sleeves. Cuts and bruises littered his body. Most he just sprayed with the sterilizer and let bubble, not bothering to patch them. On his left arm, he rucked up his sleeve all the way above his bicep, revealing the jagged wound that Luke had sealed earlier that day. Looking down, Din leaned onto the table with his arm stretched out, prodding at it. 

The Jedi leaned over and swatted his hand away.

“Don’t mess with it. That one’s going to need stitching later. The sealer will hold it until you can go to a medic.” Din glared at him and pulled his arm out of reach.

“I am the medic.” He grunted, and reached into the med kit to pull out a suture and auto-dissolving thread.

“W-wait, what are you doing?”

“Stitching.” Din said simply as he threaded the suture needle, then poured medical dissolvant onto the wound, clearing away the sealing foam. The dissolvant burned like liquid fire but Din just clenched his eyes closed, gritting his teeth. He felt Grogu’s ear brush against his chin and opened his eyes just in time to catch the kid by the back of his robe with one hand. Short arms were reaching for his wound and the child made a sad, indignant sound when he was pulled away.

“No!” Din said fimly, frowning at the child as he set him down at the far end of the table, away from his arm.

“Buueee.” The toddler cooed sadly, hands folded together as huge dark eyes looked up at him balefully. Din pointed a finger at him. 

“ _No_. You already used your powers today, you’ll exhaust yourself.”

The man just sighed and shook his head, eying the wound as he reached one hand to shuffle around blindly in the medical bag.

“Don’t worry, _ad’ika_ , there’s a numbing spray in there somewhere.” Seeing Din struggling, Luke pulled the med kit over to himself.

“Let me.” He sighed, rifling through it until he found the spray. He handed it to Din, who caught his eye and took it gratefully. The Mandalorian looked back down and sprayed around the wound. Then, he picked up the suture and started stitching. 

Besides a twitch here and there, the hunter didn’t seem to feel the pain of the suture pressing in and pulling out of his skin… Luke could see these were practiced movements, the sutures neat and precise. He’d done this before… more than once. The thought made Luke’s stomach turn sadly.

“Mandalorians _do_ have medics, don’t they?” Luke asked, a sardonic edge to his voice.

Din nodded, but didn’t look up.

“We do. The _baar'ur_. Field medics that can treat during battles in war time. We have med centers on Mandalore now, and my covert also had one designated… before.” 

Only expecting a one word answer or a grunt, Luke listened, rapt. But, Din didn’t elaborate. Curious, Luke prodded him.

“So, why do you still choose to do it yourself?”

Din’s brown eyes flit up to his as he pulled the suture through bloodied skin. He sighed through his nose and looked back down.

“I was the _beroya_ of my tribe. It means bounty hunter, but it is… more of a station. Our covert’s secrecy was our survival. Only one of us went above into the world at a time after the Purge. As _beroya_ , it was my privilege to provide for the covert. My bounties were not for my wealth, the winnings supplied for the entire tribe, including the foundlings. So I... wasn’t home much to take advantage of the _baar’ur._ I’m used taking care of myself.”

Realizing how much he’d just divulged, Din immediately felt a stab of anxiety in his gut. His heart beat hard in his chest. He had never talked to an outsider about his time in the covert like this… not even Cara. He wasn’t sure what made him able to speak to Luke so freely… Sometimes the ease with which he relaxed around the Jedi unnerved him. He pushed the thought aside quickly.

Luke, for his part, was equally surprised at the easy offering of such coveted details. The man had been willing to talk about the effort to rebuild Mandalore, their culture… but stories of his own tribe, of his own upbringing, were usually sparse and curt. This new information fascinated him.

“So… you’re telling me… you were the sole provider for- for your _entire_ tribe?”

After a brief hesitation, Din finally nodded, finishing his final stitch and breaking off the thread with his teeth.

“For many years. So, if I was injured, it was usually while I was out on a job. All Mandalorians are taught field medicine. This is expected of us.”

Luke just shook his head incredulously. Then, morbid curiosity got the better of him.

“What would have happened if you just… never returned?”

Din slapped a bacta patch over the stitching and rolled down his sleeve, shrugging.

“They’d try to hail me if it had been too long. If I didn’t respond, they’d assume I’d died and assign the station of _beroya_ to a new member of the tribe.”

“No one would come looking for you?” Luke sounded affronted.

Looking scandalized at the thought, Din raised his eyebrows at the Jedi.

“Of course not, that would be a fool’s errand.” Then he looked between Grogu and Luke and waved his hand in exasperation between them. “We don’t all have… _whatever_ mind powers you both have that helped you find me.” 

Luke smirked at that, leaning back in the booth’s seat.

“Well, good thing we do, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Hn.” Din just grunted and scooted over to the edge of the booth’s seat, folding over at the waist with a muffled huff of pain as he pulled his right pant leg up above his knee. His leg was covered in bruising that was densely mottled and ugly around his knee. Din just frowned at the area, prodding gently with a finger, until one prod generated a wince.

Luke reached over into the med kit and shuffled around, then pulled out a packet of bacta gel. He slid it across the table to the dark haired man. 

Din looked up at the sound and his lips twitched up, just for a moment, before the smile disappeared. He took the packet and sighed through his nose, ripping it open to apply the gel around his knee. Grogu tottled over to him from his perch on the table, patting at the back of the man’s head where it was bent over. Luke tried to stifle a laugh, but it escaped anyway.

“Buueee, boo, batoo.” Grogu babbled as he played with Din’s hair. Luke heard a low rumble of laughter coming from the man, a rare sound that made Luke’s smile widen.

The Mandalorian took his time rubbing the bacta gel into his knee, letting Grogu play, until the kid pulled on a handful of hair and Din squawked. The man straightened up sharply with an irked expression and grabbed the kid who still reached for his hair, lifting him up over his head with feigned anger.

“You having fun there, womp rat? No _pulling._ ” 

Grogu giggled loudly, his infant shrieks of delight echoing in the room as Din gave him a little toss then caught him and pulled him back down to rest in the crook of his arm. 

There was a comfortable moment of silence as father and son just looked at each other with little grins. Luke’s heart clenched, his smile turning soft and sad.

“I’m... sorry it’s been so long since you’ve seen him. Seeing you two together… His energy is so much brighter in the Force when he’s with you.” 

Din’s eyes darted to the Jedi's, a wistful look lingering before he gazed back down at the child, face falling. He seemed to be struggling with how to respond to that… Luke could feel his conflicted emotions churning around him through the Force, a despondent resignation winning out eventually. 

“He belongs with the Jedi…” He finally sighed, setting Grogu back on the table. “This is the way.”

Keeping his eyes downcast, the Mandalorian turned and straightened out his leg, examining the significantly reduced bruising around his knee. He didn’t want the Jedi’s pity. He’d made his choice, and so had Grogu… it didn’t matter what he really wanted, deep down. He was Mand’alor now… as always, he had a job to do.

Standing up cautiously, Din gingerly put weight on his injured knee and started limping slowly across the room. He grit his teeth at the throbbing spasm lacing up his leg with each step, but as he walked the discomfort started to ease, steadily dulling into a distant ache. After one full lap to the far wall and back to the booth, he finally tried putting his full weight on the leg and didn’t feel any twinge of pain. He crouched, stretching out the joint while he rubbed a hand absently over it.

When he stood back to full height, Din looked up to find Luke watching him with an unreadable expression. Self-consciousness pricked his skin, making his hairs stand on end. He’d resigned himself to the fact that this Jedi had already seen his face, that he could be open with the man he’d trusted his son’s care to… but it was still a new and somewhat unsettling experience for him. Letting this man see his face… see him without his armor… see him tending to his injuries. It left him feeling exposed… vulnerable.

Averting his eyes, Din’s shoulders tensed and he had the itching desire to put his armor back on. Instead, he strode back to the passenger cabin and retrieved his right vambrace before sliding back into the booth across from Luke. Trying to ignore the man’s eyes on him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tapped through the controls. Then, a holo projection of the smuggler’s freighter appeared above the vambrace. He held it out on the table and pressed another control; the exterior walls of the freighter fell away to reveal the ship’s deck plan, with stats in Aurebesh rolling beside it.

Luke leaned forward, elbows resting on the table with hands clasped, and peered at the holo. Sandy hair fell over one eye when he cocked his head to the side and he brushed it away with a gloved hand. 

“That’s not a small ship.” The Jedi’s voice was carefully neutral.

“No,” Din agreed, “but I’ve boarded bigger. It’s only got short-range sensors, so if we come in hot, we can overtake them and dock before they get a chance to engage their grappler or cannons.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “You think you can do it?” 

Din shot the Jedi an annoyed look. “I know you were hot bantha-shit as a pilot in the rebellion, but you’re not the only one who knows how to fly.”

Luke laughed brightly and brought up his hands. “I wasn’t second guessing you! It’d be a challenge for anyone, even me.”

“Hn.” Din just shook his head and pointed at the freighter’s upper deck. “The cockpit is up here, but the cargo hold is below. So, when we dock we’ll come in through the top and take out the crew first, then work our way below. They’ll likely have some crew stationed with the goods...”

Luke nodded, eyes squinting at the projection. “If you focus on the cockpit, I can clear a path to the cargo.” 

“Good.” A shrill beep sounded from the Kom’rk’s console and Din shut off the projection, sighing through his nose. “We’re getting close. I’ll go change.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at him. “What about your shoulder?” 

The Mandalorian expression turned guarded. “What about it?”

As if talking about it made it worse, Din felt his neck twinge again. The explosion, besides impaling him with shrapnel, had thrown him _hard_. And when he’d landed, unconscious, on his right side, his knee and shoulder had taken the brunt of his tumbling across the sand. His shoulder still throbbed, the muscles snaking up his neck and across his back stiff and swollen… but he wasn’t exactly going to strip to get to the area with the Jedi here. 

“You’re just going in there without treating it?” The younger man asked, blue eyes concerned.

Din supposed he should have known the Jedi would notice…

“No time.” He huffed. “It’s fine, I can move well enough, the limp was more important.” 

“Are you s-” 

The hunter waved off any further protest, storming into the bunk space with his vambrace still in hand. The door hissed shut behind him.

Luke sighed and turned to Grogu, who just looked at him and blinked and waved. The Jedi smiled at the youngling.

“Your father is very stubborn.” He murmured good-naturedly, then stood. Looking down at the lightsaber clipped to his belt, Luke mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando’a Translations:**  
>  hut’uune - Cowards  
> beskar'gam - Mandalorian set of armor  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, [name] - Mandalorian remembrance vow: "I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal, [name of the dead]."  
> baar'ur - medic  
> beroya - bounty hunter  
> ad’ika - little one, son/daughter (affectionate)
> 
> Ok guys, I can't help it, this one-off I did for Febuwhump spawned a whole-ass series idea in my brain (that actually picks up from the end of my other fic [Mandoade, Vode An](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405446)). I already have 10 pages that's just the outline for the entire series, and have started writing pieces of it. It's gonna be 15 parts, some of which are multi-chap (like this one). 
> 
> It's basically going to be following Din's story with the Mandalorians after Luke takes Grogu, his efforts to reclaim Mandalorian space & rebuild their people. It's gonna go deep into Mandalorian culture, history, the different planets they'd colonized (Krownest, Concord Dawn, Kalevala, etc.), reviving their major exports like the mining operations, MandalMotors, etc. and will try to explore what a post-Purge society actually looks like since all the New Mandalorians (the pacifists to participated in the pre-Empire Republic) were basically wiped out... with only warrior sects having survived (think True Mandalorian and Death Watch remnants, like Din's tribe), what does a new Mandalore really look like?
> 
> And then of course, how does the New Republic, Din's old career (the Guild), and his bond with Grogu come into play? When/how does he meet Luke again? What is their relationship like? How does he balance that with his responsibilities as Mand'alor? And so on!!
> 
> This fic "By the Skin of our Teeth", once I mapped it all out, is actually part 13/15 of the entire series. So a lot has already happened to set up their relationship over a period of a few months leading up to this fic. Think of it as a teaser for the series!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din & Luke board the beskar smuggler's ship. Things are going well... until they're not. 
> 
> He'd been patched up by Luke... now Din gets to return the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is actually going to be 4 chapters. I have the final chapter almost done. This chap is mostly action and angst, next chapter is angst and intrigue... plot yo!

Luke and Din sat in the cockpit, Din in the pilot’s chair, the Jedi to his right. In a passenger seat behind them, Grogu was buckled in securely and was already clapping excitedly, his little claws clicking.

“Alright everyone, hold on. Coming out of hyperspace in 3- 2- 1…” 

Din shoved the hyperdrive handle down and the ship slammed into realspace, trails of light focusing sharply into pointed specs dotting the blackness through the viewscreen.

The Kom’rk didn’t slow, however. Hurtling through space at top speed, Din aimed the ship at the gray speck that was the Aurore-class freighter below them, the ship enlarging as they closed in. Grogu giggled happily behind him, arms waving in the air, and Din couldn’t help the little smirk that pulled his lips beneath his helmet.

Sirens started blaring as the freighter scanned them, locking their canons on the ship. But Din was moving too fast, they were already in close range. With a deft dodge, one powerful red laser shot past them and then Din was spinning the ship, dipping below the freighter until the Kom’rk’s hull was flush against the other ship’s underbelly. Engaging the automated docking alignment, Din heard the hiss-click of the Kom’rk’s port sealing against the freighter’s airlock, then he flipped a switch to deadlock them into place. 

Grogu was still giggling endearingly and Luke shot the man a sidelong smirk, one brow raised. 

“Nice flying.”

“Hn.” Was all Din said, surging up from the chair and grabbing his spear, which he sheathed against his back.

Unbuckling from his own seat, Luke crouched smoothly in front of Grogu and met his eyes.

“You need to stay here, little one. Your father and I are going somewhere that’s not safe for you. We’ll be alright, but it’s very important that you stay here, and don’t follow us.” He took one of the child’s little hands in between two fingers, holding it gently. “Can you do that?”

Nodding sullenly, Grogu sent waves through the Force telling Luke that he understood. He’d stay right there. _Protect buir…_

Luke smiled fondly.

“I will, little one.” Glancing behind Grogu to the droid who beeped at him comfortingly, Luke nodded. 

“Keep an eye on him, Artoo.” The droid rocked side to side and flashed his assent.

Luke stood and checked his lightsaber, clipped securely to his hip, then shrugged off his billowing outer robe, folding it neatly and setting it on the co-pilot’s seat. He could feel a muted warning from the Force… but couldn’t grasp what it warned of. Through the Force, he could also feel the fear pouring from the smuggler’s ship. They knew they were being boarded, and by whom...

“I sense many lifeforms in the other ship…” he started, tone carefully neutral. “Will we be taking any prisoners?”

“No.” Din’s reply was blunt, as always. He stood unmoving, watching the Jedi… waiting.

Luke peered at the man calmly, looking past the beskar visor as he reached out through the Force. He was trying to sense if the man was being driven by revenge, or rage, or fear… but he could sense no malice. Din’s righteous anger was cold and hard, like his beskar, almost a void in the Force, energy being sucked into his stillness. There was a sense of duty… of justice. An unshakable belief in how a wrong is made right. And beneath it all, a deep exhaustion. A desire for the bloodshed to end. 

Mistaking Luke’s searching gaze and silent pause for disapproval, Din glowered back at the Jedi.

“You don’t have to be a part of this. I didn’t ask you to come.”

Look shook himself out of the comfortable whispers of the Force, cocking his head at Din and resuming his earlier smirk.

“I know. I offered. And I _am_ coming with you. Remember, you’re still injured, Din. My priority is making sure you come back alive.”

The sentiment simultaneously warmed Din and wounded his pride. Still unsure what to do with anyone offering him protection, whether it was Bo-Katan or the Jedi, the Mand’alor just shrugged stiffly.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

* * *

Using the Kom’rk’s military grade port connector to hack through the other ship’s security, breaking through the freighter’s airlock was easy. When the docking hatch hissed open, they’d immediately been met with open fire and the two had sprung into action. 

Luke stepped in front, deflecting blaster fire with a practiced ease that was both smooth and deadly. From behind him, Din stormed through the ship’s seal, locking it behind him to protect Grogu before turning to shoot the smugglers down one by one from behind his Jedi human-shield. Once the access-way was clear, Din and Luke rushed forward into the ship, nodding to each other as they split up per their prior plan, Din taking the upper level and Luke hastening towards the lower level, to clear a path to the main cargo hold.

If they wanted to take down this ship, Din knew that clearing the cockpit took priority. After splitting up, the Mandalorian had hurried in the direction of the ship's controls, his blaster in one hand and his spear in the other. The cockpit was sealed shut and he could hear harried shouts coming from inside. They knew he was here. 

Unconcerned, Din sheathed his blaster and started tapping at the door’s controls, deploying the Kom’rk’s override protocols with a tap of his vambrace. With a satisfying beep, the override unlocked the door and it hissed open to reveal three surprised combatants. Shooting up, a sneering Weequay lunged at Din, pulling his blaster. But Din was faster. Before the Weequay could get his blaster aimed, the Mand’alor smashed down on his arm with the spear, knocking the blaster away as the smuggler cried out in pain. The Duros in the pilot’s seat leap up and flatted himself back against the ship’s dash, babbling pathetically, as the Gran beside him threw a powerful punch at Din with a growl. The Mandalorian dodged the arm deftly then smashed his helmet into the Gran’s sensitive eye stalks causing the Gran to roar in pain and reel back. Just as the Weequay was rising Din swept the spear in a wide arc, slicing across the Gran’s face and down into the Weequay beside him. Pulling back, Din brought up his blaster and shot the cowering Duros in dead center mass twice as he plunged the spear into the Weequay with his other hand. Both dropped, dead. 

Squealing in pain, the Gran rushed him, crashing Din back against the cockpit’s durasteel wall and ripping the spear out of his grip. Grunting at the impact, the bounty hunter struggled with the huge mass pinning him, large meaty hands trying to find purchase around his neck. He kicked at the creature’s legs as it tried to crush him, unable to get his blaster between them. Just as the Gran found a grip around his neck Din flicked out his vibroblade and buried it into the smuggler’s gut. Crying out in pain the Gran stumbled back and the moment his blaster arm was free Din pulled up the barrel and shot three times. The creature sizzled, falling back heavily and wedging between the pilot and co-pilot’s seat. Something clattered and looking down, Din noticed that a blinking fob had fallen to the floor from the smuggler’s belt…

 _Another fob…_ was this for the same target, or was this _another_ covert at risk?

Mouth thinning into a grim line, Din bent to pick up the fob and tucked into his belt, then stormed over to the bridge controls and pushed the dead Duros off the dash where it slumped bonelessly to the floor. Pulling up the the main control hub, he quickly disabled any alarms and distress signals, then overrode all the door controls on the ship, unlocking every access point for him and Luke as they swept through the ship. With a final beep, Din disabled the ship’s escape pods. 

Now the smugglers were trapped in the ship with them, with nowhere to hide.

Turning, the Mandalorian glanced aside and tugged his spear out of the Weequay’s corpse, wiping it off with his cape, then sheathing it over his shoulder. Time to clear out the rest of the ship’s upper level.

* * *

The command center and captain’s quarters had been empty, but Din could hear loud voices through the now open doorways as he made his way cautiously through the ship’s halls. This end of the Aurore should be the upper lounge, but as he flattened himself against the wall and peered around a corner into the large open space, he saw that the crew had repurposed the room as a secondary storage hold. Taking another glance around the corner, Din spotted five men in defensive positions around and behind the scattered cargo bins in the room. Seeing the glint of his helmet, one goggled human pointed and shouted at him, setting off a barrage of blaster fire. Din quickly retreated back against the wall, pressing his body against the durasteel plating as their shots sailed harmlessly down the corridor past him. 

The Mandalorian eyed the bright red blaster bolts briefly before he tried to catch another glimpse of each smuggler’s position in the room. 

_...There._

Din edged around the corner just enough to fire off a shot at a Nikto who had exposed himself, the sound of a sizzle and a pained cry the only confirmation that Din had hit his mark. 

Seeing that the other mercs were being much more cautious after their friend was picked off, Din lost patience and pulled a timed charge from his belt, priming it for a 5 second countdown. Taking another quick glance from his narrow cover, he aimed and threw the charge expertly into the small group huddled behind a pile of crates. Crouching and tensing, within seconds Din heard the deafening boom of the explosion, the screams of the mercs… then silence. He stood cautiously, HUD watching for any movement through the smoke and debris. Out of the corner of his eye, a bright red splotch in his viewfinder moved and Din shot with an instant reflex. The shape cried out and crumpled, going still. Nothing else moved.

Tapping his helmet, Din commed Luke. “Upper level is clear, how many do you have down there?”

_“Just reaching the lower cargo hold now. The crew’s quarters had more than we’d thought.”_

Din tensed. “You okay?” 

_“Of course.”_ The smile was almost tangible through the comm and Din was tempted to roll his eyes. Jedi were supposed to be without ego, Luke had said once. Bunch of bantha-shit.

“I’m on my way.”

Hurrying towards the aft ladder down to the ship’s lower level, Din didn’t bother to holster his blaster as he braced both boots around the outer sides of the ladder, sliding down one handed to the floor below. He turned the moment he landed, gun ready, but only the motionless remains of dead smugglers laid in Luke’s wake. There were nearly ten just in this room and next to nothing besides the bodies was out of place. 

“Hn.” He huffed, begrudgingly impressed at how efficiently the Jedi had disabled the mercs.

Striding out of the lower lounge, Din made his way through the crew’s quarters into the hallway that led to the ship’s large hold. He could see Luke at the far end, tucked just behind the opening against the door’s controls. Looking through the wide open storm door Din saw a hoard of smugglers scrambling to ready their weapons, three of which were front and center, cocking heavy short barrel slugthrowers that he instantly recognized. They were KS-23 Hammers.

Horror closed his throat, cold fear coursing through him. He broke into a sprint. Luke shifted.

“Luke, don’t-!!“ he shouted desperately, but too late. Luke had already shot out from his cover, calm and confident, lightsaber raised. He easily deflected the blaster bolts shot his way, taking out their shooters with each shift of the lightsaber.

Then, _the Force screamed_ and his eyes widened… 

The slugthrowers fired, explosive pellets bursting from the barrels with a thunderous boom that ricocheted off the durasteel walls.

Luke threw his hand out, redirecting most of the pellets as his lightsaber seared through more, splintering them into small molten shrapnel, but there were simply too many. The vicious scatter shot peppered Luke with jagged metal and he grunted loudly, the sound surprised and pained. 

Din was already racing forward, blaster firing, as Luke stumbled. The smugglers were scrambling to reload the slow-firing shotguns as Din caught the Jedi with one arm, his other igniting the space with fire from the flamethrower on his wrist. 

Voices cried out in agony at the blistering heat, smugglers ducking behind the crates they were trying to protect as the Mandalorian dragged Luke to safety. Pulling the Jedi back around the corner of the cargo hold’s opening, Din tossed an explosive charge behind him, barely watching as the mercs dove for cover. He used both hands to prop up the younger man against the durasteel wall, looking him over with frenzied intensity. 

“Luke.” He rasped, adrenaline singing in his veins.

The Jedi’s head was hung low and he didn’t respond right away. Heart pounding in his ears, Din shook the slender shoulders as gently as he could.

_“Luke!”_

“Nngh. Huh?” Pale features winced in pain as blue eyes peered up at him between sandy bangs. The younger man sagged and Din helped support his body as he slid to the floor. Luke’s head lolled back to thunk against the wall. A streak of blood splashed across the fair face where a sharp pellet had grazed his cheek. It was hard to see against his black robes where he’d been hit, but Din could just make out a few spots growing darker and wet…

“ _Kriff_.” the Mandalorian hissed into the smokey air, pulling off his cloak with a frenzied urgency as he wadded it up and pressed it to an enlarging wet spot near Luke’s hip. 

The blue eyes clenched closed, Luke’s face pinching as he panted and pressed his bare hand over one of the other bleeding wounds. 

“Who uses,” the Jedi wheezed “...karking _slugthrowers_ anymore?!”

“Disreputable sorts,” Din murmured, snorting at the Jedi’s petulant tone. He didn’t mention that his old armory on the Razor Crest had hosted a few… Holding one palm on Luke’s shoulder, Din crouched beside him to peek around the corner. 

The smugglers were regrouping after the explosion, at least four of them were left, potentially more he couldn’t see. Din’s mouth thinned. He couldn’t get Luke back to their ship while any enemies remained… he sighed through his nose.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Just as he was pulling away a black gloved hand caught his arm, just beneath the pauldron. He looked over to see Luke’s somber blue eyes boring into his. The hand squeezed gently around his bicep. “Be careful.”

The bounty hunter swallowed thickly, nodding, and tore his eyes away. He couldn't think about the fact that Luke was injured right now, he had to _focus_. Standing, Din pressed himself against the corner’s edge, preparing his attack. He needed to end this quickly… which meant he needed to get his vambrace in range… 

Bursting around the corner, Din started shooting, keeping his targets cowering behind their cover with a barrage of fire as he ignited his jet pack with a small contained burst. Shooting over the low wall of crates they’d erected, Din landed heavily in their midst, ignoring the grunts and shouts of surprise. There were five. Fists started throwing, blasters firing. The energy bolts pinged off of Din’s armor as he caught punches and threw his elbow back into a Rodian’s face. He smashed his helmet into a Nikto’s hard skull and bent to pull his vibroblade out of his boot, swiping it in a wide arc to slice through the neck of the Rodian who was coming back up behind him. One down. 

A blaster bolt sizzled past his helmet, the heat of it singeing the neck of his flak vest and Din kicked back at the source, hearing a shout as he felt a knee cave beneath his boot. Twirling around into a crouch, Din gave his HUD the view it needed to target each of the smugglers, then launched a salvo of whistling birds. The tiny explosive missiles screamed out of his vambrace and hit their marks, taking down all four of the remaining smugglers with a loud, simultaneous thud. Heart pounding, Din held his breath and waited to see if any of the bodies twitched... 

When only silence reigned, the Mandalorian released the breath, chest heaving as he scanned the room for any other threats. Seeing none, he slowly stood to full height, then kicked the smugglers’ weapons away from their bodies to clatter against the walls, just to be safe.

His helmet’s audio receptors picked up a soft grunt of pain and Din’s gaze jerked back to the hold’s opening. Dashing around the crates, Din bolted back to the hallway and skidded to a halt beside Luke, falling to one knee. The Jedi was still slumped against the wall, face glistening with sweat and pinched in pain. Hastily, Din pulled up one of Luke’s arms and slung it around his shoulder, tugging him up against his body before he wrapped his other arm around the man’s waist. 

Luke looked aside at him with a weary, wry grin.

“I’m starting to recon-” he sucked in a breath when Din’s hard beskar dug into one of his wounds, then released it shakily, “...reconsider my stance on armor. Yours seems pretty handy.”

“It is.” Din said simply. “I’m gonna lift you up, we need to get you back to the Kom’rk.”

“Do it.” Luke agreed easily, but groaned behind tightly sealed lips when Din started heaving him upwards, valiantly, if ineffectively, trying to muffle his pain.

Din huffed with the effort of Luke’s weight leaning against his already battered body as he rose to his feet, pulling the Jedi up with him. After a moment of shuffling, Luke got his feet under him and doggedly trying to hold his own weight. On his first step, his leg collapsed beneath him.

“ _Dank farrik._ ” Din cursed, catching Luke with his hip before he brought them both down.

“Sorry,” Luke gasped. “Sorry-”

Din considered his options… time to try another tactic. Without preamble, Din readjusted his hold on the Jedi, twisting and bending to place his uninjured shoulder against Luke’s stomach. 

“This is gonna hurt.” He warned, then hefted Luke over his shoulder.

The Jedi yelped in pain and surprise at the sudden pressure against his wounds, but Din was already moving, his long strides, nearly a jog, eating up the distance through the freighter’s crew quarters, Luke’s smaller frame draped over him. 

Their heavy breathing and Din’s sturdy boots on the durasteel were the only sounds that echoed in the ship.

“That was…” Luke huffed a haggard breath against Din’s back, “utterly unnecessary. I could h-have walked.”

“Sure.” Din rasped agreeably, his own voice strained with effort. “Whatever you say.” 

Luke gasped out a small laugh, then clenched his eyes shut when a swell of nausea overtook him. The world felt too loud, too bright… he could feel every little piece of foreign metal inside his body, shifting and cutting… he could feel the blood dripping from each bullet wound, soaking Din’s flight suit and armor. He could feel Din, a solid presence beneath him, usually so steady and calm, like an anchor… but not now. 

Luke normally had strict control over his senses… but everything hurt... the Force pulsed and flowed between him and all things… the ship, the shrapnel, the man that carried him. Din's emotions were churning and churning and churning... _worry terror worry FOCUS guilt grief guilt determination-_ His head pounded and bile rose in the back of his throat as the sensations swelled over and through him.

When Din reached the lower lounge he came to an abrupt halt, causing Luke to choke back a moan of pain. He hadn’t noticed it on the way in, but there, right in front of him, was a large communal table littered with medical supplies. Din’s eyes darted to the med kit open on the table and, changing direction, he rushed over to it. With one arm holding Luke steady, he swept the other out to make space, knocking aside cauterizers and rolls of bandages.

“Here we go.” The Mandalorian murmured softly as he bent to lay Luke down on the table, trying to ease the Jedi off his shoulder as gently as he could. Despite his efforts, he could hear Luke’s muffled grunts of agony and Din’s jaw clenched. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He muttered hoarsely as he laid the man out, then pulled away to start searching through the med supplies strewn across the table.

“Why’d we… stop?” Luke asked, voice weak and eyes closed. 

“There was a med kit already open in the freighter’s lounge. Smugglers must have been doing the same as I was when we boarded them.”’

“Don’t happen to see… a bacta tank,” the Jedi queried between shaky breaths, “do you?”

“...No.” Din responded flatly, pulling together the supplies he’d need, eying the various and ample kinds of bacta hoarded in the med kit. “But we’ll make do. They’re well stocked…” His mind stuttered on this thought.

“Too well stocked.” He murmured to himself. Whoever was handing out these fobs was also supplying these ships. Rare high powered weapons, ample supplies of expensive bacta… who the _kriff_ was behind all this? 

Shaking away the thoughts, Din refocused on the task at hand. Sweeping out his arm he pulled the supplies he’d piled in towards them. Looking down at the softly wheezing man, Din didn’t waste any time starting to pull away the Jedi’s outer tunic.

“Wh-what are you-” Luke’s voice sounded confused and Din’s brows furrowed with concern. The Jedi had either already lost too much blood, or he was going into shock.

“I’m trying to get to your wounds, Luke. You’ve been shot.”

Blue eyes snapped open and glared up at him, even if the glare’s heat was somewhat tempered by the glazed eyes and sweat soaked bangs sticking to his brow.

“Yes, Din. _Thank you._ ” Luke grit out between clenched teeth. The Mandalorian threw up his hands in frustration.

“Then what do you _think_ I’m doing?!” He hissed, worry fraying the edges of his usually controlled temper. Luke shook his head on the table and a hand came up to grip Din’s wrist.

“J-just cut away what you need t-to.” 

Silent for a moment, Din’s mouth twisted in scowl. What the kriff was the Jedi doing prioritizing modesty over efficiency at a time like this? Finally, he just shook his head and stomped aside to reach for the thermal cutter. Swiping it off the table, he thumbed it to its lowest setting and pulled at Luke’s tunic by his shoulder. 

“Fine. Your highness.” Din muttered testily.

Luke scoffed wetly. “D-don’t call me that.” 

Din kept cutting fabric away, moving to his hip. “Your sister’s a princess, right?” 

“Y-yeah, but-”

“Well, your highness,” he interrupted gruffly, “I need you to put pressure on your hip while I work on your shoulder.” Pausing with the thermal cutter, Din grabbed one of Luke’s hands and pressed it over the still bleeding wound. Luke made a strained sound.

“M- m’not-” Luke’s eyes drifted shut again as his voice trailed off and Din’s eyes darted up to his face in concern as his hands kept cutting away cloth.

Din’s HUD had already identified all the shrapnel’s entry points on the Jedi’s body, and they were numerous. Two small pellets in the man’s right shoulder, one just above his right hip, one in his left forearm and two in his left thigh, not to mention the deep graze on his right outer thigh all of which were still bleeding. As small as the pellets were, Din knew how deadly slugthrowers could be, the Hammer especially. Primitive they may be, but the ancient firearms had lasted this long for a reason: they were effective. Sometimes even more effective than energy blasters: slugthrowers could be silenced, where blasters could not, and slugthrowers were considerably more reliable and long lived. Most importantly, lightsabers couldn’t deflect them. But while blaster bolts generally meant instant death, cooking you alive from the inside, the explosive metal slugs were a more gruesome way to go, bodies left gored and bleeding. It was why their sale and usage was shunned on more civilized worlds.

Din finished cutting away the outer and inner tunic around each wound and leaned back to Luke’s shoulder, peeling away bloody cloth to reveal a small but ugly puncture wound where the slugthrower’s explosive pellets had ripped into him.

Working quickly, Din reached for the sanitizing spray and cleaned the area, examining the angry red skin with a deft touch. Ripping off his right vambrace and glove, Din reached for the long, spindly medical tweezers in the kit. He tapped Luke’s cheek with the cold metal and pale eyes opened to regard him quizzically. 

Din motioned to the shoulder wound with the tweezers. “The pellets are still inside. I need to…” he trailed off helplessly and tilted his helmet. “Do you, uh, want something to bite down on?”

He felt awkward even asking the question. If this was another Mandalorian, he wouldn’t have given them warning much less made such an offer. They had all been trained in field surgery and triage medicine, they knew how to grit their teeth, get patched up and charge back into the fray. 

But Luke was not a Mandalorian. The Jedi was powerful, sure, but Din had learned enough about him during their irregular conversations to know that Luke hadn’t been raised a fighter. He was battle forged, but not battle hardened.

Instead of taking Din’s offer as he’d expected, however, Luke just closed his eyes slowly, a calm, peaceful expression smoothing the lines of his face. Din frowned. This was the look Luke and Grogu got when they were doing _Force_ things.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian asked hesitantly. 

But Luke didn’t answer, his brows furrowed in deep concentration… and then the man was gritting his teeth, the veins of his neck bulging with tightly controlled effort. The Jedi’s hands closed into fists at his side and his back arched.

Concern skyrocketing, Din looked down at the man who was clearly in pain, hands hovering, confused. 

“Luke! What’s-” Then, Din’s mouth gaped open beneath his helmet. There, before him were the metal pellets and shrapnel pieces, pulling themselves slowly, carefully, out of Luke’s body. He watched in horrified fascination as the two in Luke’s shoulder eased out from beneath torn muscle and skin, the alloy pieces dripping with blood as they rose up above his body. 

Standing back, Din watched as each piece from Luke’s hip, thigh and arm joined the two pellets floating above him. They hovered and swam in the air. Then, abruptly, they were tossed to the side, pinging against the table top as they tumbled and rolled off the far edge to clink against the durasteel floor.

With a loud whoosh of air, Luke exhaled and went limp like a rag doll on the table, his eyes rolling back and his expression going slack as he passed out.

Frozen still at what he’d just witnessed, it took Din a moment to shake himself out of his stupor before he rushed to check the younger man’s pulse. It was thready and weak, but it fluttered beneath his bare fingertips and Din exhaled in relief. The wounds were bleeding freely now and Din could see Luke’s bright red blood pooling beside his shoulder on the tabe. With a grimace, the hunter grabbed the field cauterizer he'd found and rushed to cauterize the wounds, pressing the tool against each weeping hole with a sizzling hiss. The smell of searing flesh assaulted his nose and he wrinkled it in distaste. Distantly, the thought crosses Din's mind that he’s grateful Luke isn’t awake for this part. 

After heat sealing each slug wound meticulously, Din opened the high-end bacta spray and applied it liberally to Luke's shoulder, hip, arm and thigh. He’d never been able to afford the high-end spray back when he tripped across the galaxy in the Razor Crest… but if this was anything like what IG-11 had been equipped with, Luke should start healing quickly. Accepting that he’d done all he could do, Din slumped onto the bench seat beside the table, chestplate brushing against Luke’s shoulder. He watched the man’s even breathing, willing his racing heart to slow.

Taking in the Jedi’s lax expression, Din’s eye caught on the smear of blood and his lips twitched down. Reaching for some gauze, he cleaned away the blood on the younger man’s cheek, then dabbed bacta gel over the graze. It was a minor wound, anyone else he knew wouldn’t have bothered with it and worn the scar with pride later… but for some reason, it looked wrong on Luke’s fair features. He was always so prim and composed… noble and enigmatic where Din was battle hardened and blunt.

Luke was smooth stone where Din was all jagged edges. Or at least, he felt like jagged edges next to the man. Both shamans of an ancient religion, nearly extinct, the shepherds of their wayward peoples. But while Luke managed to look calm and poised as he built his temple and gathered ancient texts, harboring the next generation of Jedi in the gentle eye of a political storm, Din on the other hand, felt untethered. 

He’d never wanted to be Mand’alor. He still didn’t think he was any _good_ at it. His people were being hunted and eradicated by the remnants of the Empire, and more often than not he failed to stop them. When he did manage to find survivors, all they did was fight when they came home to roost on Mandalore. They’d fight with other clans, they’d fight amongst each other, they’d fight _him_. It felt like pulling teeth to get all the clans to agree to work together to rebuild their broken world, and even then, the peace felt tenuous. All the while he was supposed to be upholding the ultimate representation of the Mandalorian Creed and he didn’t even know what that was anymore. There were no ancient texts to refer to to tell him what was right and what was wrong - what was Mandalorian and what wasn’t.

Where Luke was all optimistic resolve as he faced rebuilding his people, Din was fumbling desperation.

His legacy wasn’t the hidden paradise that Luke had built for his younglings… the revitalization of an ancient order from a more civilized era… No, his reclamation was on a toxic, barren world with the ghosts of a tragic, violent past around every corner to remind him how they’d gotten there. How easily his own people could turn down the same path again.

Smooth stone versus jagged edges… that’s what they were, the Jedi and the Mandalorians. That’s why the scar wouldn’t look right on that unblemished cheek. 

He hadn’t been able to save any of his own people, but at least he’d saved one person this trip.

Folding his arms on the table, Din dropped his helmet onto his wrists and sighed, waiting for Luke to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole slugthrower vs. Jedi thing is true Star Wars/Mando lore btw.
> 
> Early on, Mandalorians quickly figured out that Jedi mostly view blaster fire as “fun lightsaber practice” .
> 
> During the Mando-Jedi Wars, they dealt with this in a characteristically practical fashion. Instead of blasters, they used slugthrowers (aka ordinary firearms), because if a Jedi tries to deflect a regular bullet what happens is “a bunch of bullet shrapnel to the Jedi’s face”.
> 
> Jedi or Sith: [deflects blaster fire]  
> Mando’ade, racking a shotgun: Deflect this you feckin’ wizard!


End file.
